boots appeared on her screen.
Lowering the camera, she looked up into the scowling face of one of the most attractive men she had ever seen—and there were plenty of great-looking men in Alaska. Sharp, handsome features were etched into a long face with a charmingly cleft chin. There was a decided sensuality to him that made her insides grow incongruously warm. But with the way he was frowning, his light brown eyes looked almost feral. In fact, she had a sense of something wild and untamed about this man.
Her sudden unease was exacerbated when he demanded harshly, “What do you want?”
“A dogsled ride.” She hated how hesitant she sounded. That wasn’t like her at all.
She turned off her camera and slipped it into the tote bag that she had remembered to take out of her four-wheel-drive SUV after parking at the street edge of the driveway. Squaring her shoulders beneath her all-weather vest, she strode toward the man, hearing her boots crunch over the icy surface of the driveway. Why hadn’t she heard him arrive? Probably because she’d been concentrating on her photography and the noisy dogs.
She’d shot a lot of pictures of the dozens of gorgeous silvery, black-and-brown huskies cavorting playfully in the snow behind the wooden fence. They weren’t wild animals. In fact, she assumed they were well domesticated, perfectly trained. But they would make a fantastic contrast with the rest of the creatures she intended to photograph around here.
“I’m Mariah Garver,” she said. “I’m here to do an article on local wildlife for Alaskan Nature Magazine, and I want to hire a dogsled team and musher to take me onto the ice at Great Glaciers National Park tomorrow. And you are …?”
“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll get Toby Dawes. He’s the owner of Great Glaciers Dogsled Ranch. I only work here.”
The man turned his back and strode toward the large chalet-style home behind him, at the top of the driveway.
Not exactly the way to encourage tourists and dogsledding customers, Mariah thought.
But she was nevertheless intrigued by him. He was definitely photogenic. And he somehow seemed as wild as the animals she would feature in her article.
He’d said he worked here. Maybe she could hire him to take her onto the glaciers.
The house smelled of the pungency of last night’s pizza as well as the freshness of today’s dog food as Patrick Worley strode inside to get his supposed boss, Toby. Patrick was steaming. Not because of the warmer temperature in the residence, and not at the woman who’d suddenly shown up on the driveway. Well, not entirely at her.
He was mostly mad at himself for overreacting, and for showing his irritation. But having someone arrive unannounced, taking pictures—for a magazine article, yet—while he was on this top-secret assignment for Alpha Force … well, it had angered him.
Justifiably, sure. He definitely didn’t want anyone whose job involved curiosity—and photography—looking over his shoulder while he was going about the ordinary business of the job that was his cover.
Even someone—especially someone—as gorgeous and hot as that black-haired, curvaceous beauty, Mariah Garver. Her scent was spicy beneath her heavy clothing. Appealing, sure. But no one he needed to be near.
“Hey, Toby,” Patrick yelled from the doorway. “There’s a possible customer outside. She wants to talk to you.”
Hearing a soft mutter from the direction of the kitchen, he headed there. Toby was at the sink, pouring warm, filtered water into a bucket of the high-calorie working-dog chow he bought by huge bagfuls for his energetic huskies. “Tell whoever it is to wait a minute,” he said as Patrick walked in.
Toby Dawes was in his sixties, clearly fit and obstinately muscular. When he wasn’t working his sled dogs, he was working himself.
“No need. She won’t leave till she talks to you.” The sexy woman writer had struck Patrick immediately as being determined. Persistent. Most likely too curious for her own good—and his. “A magazine writer,” Patrick continued scornfully. “Taking pictures for a nature article she’s writing.”
That got Toby’s attention. “Interesting. We could get a lot of publicity from that.” He hefted the obviously heavy bucket and headed outside.
“Want me to carry that, boss?” Patrick asked.
He received a scornful glare. “I’ll carry it, but you come feed our teams while I talk to the lady.”
Patrick opened his mouth to object, then shut it again. He was here undercover, after all. Toby had no idea who and what he was. He had hired Patrick as a favor to a friend of his son Wes’s. Wes was former Special Ops and still had a lot of military contacts, but not even he knew the truth about Patrick or his assignment. Or about Alpha Force.
Toby put the bucket down on the counter just long enough to grab his gray parka from a hook on the wall and shrug it on. Then he motioned to Patrick to follow.
The woman—Mariah—was still taking pictures. She even aimed the camera in their direction as they approached down the driveway. Patrick resisted the urge to turn in the other direction.
There were worse things than having his picture taken at this moment.
She smiled as they got closer. “Mr. Dawes? I’m really glad to meet you.” She gave the same introduction as she had with Patrick.
“An article for Alaskan Nature? That’s one of my favorite ‘zines.” Toby’s grin lit his grizzled face as he put down the bucket he’d carried as easily as if it was filled with popcorn. “Patrick said you want to schedule a dogsled ride on the glaciers.”
“That’s right, tomorrow.”
“Damn. I’ve got a meeting in Nome I can’t miss, about the Iditarod. Catching a plane first thing in the morning, and won’t be back till after dark.” Which came earlier every day as the Alaskan winter approached.
Toby turned toward Patrick, who suddenly knew what was coming.
“How about Wes taking her?” Patrick asked. But he knew the answer. Wes was already scheduled to take a group of tourists out that day.
“Can’t. But you can. Great sledding skills,” he said, turning toward Mariah. “And practically a native.”
If someone who’d only been here a couple of weeks could be a native, Patrick thought scornfully. He’d been trained, sure. But Toby and Wes were the best mushers around, and he’d only taken a team out on his own once.
Yet his cover required that he go along with his employer, who obviously wanted Mariah Garver’s business. So, all he said was “Thanks, boss,” keeping any sarcasm out of his tone.
“Looks like you hired yourself a musher,” Toby said to Mariah, “long as you can meet the terms.” He spouted off the cost per hour and for the extras she could choose.
Mariah didn’t bat even one of those long, sexy eyelashes before saying, “That works for me.” And then she aimed a gaze at Patrick that made him stand up straighter. “If Patrick is okay with it.”
“Patrick is fine with it,” he growled, knowing that, despite any good sense he had,
